


Burn

by anothermiracle



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, upd8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 03:26:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2606753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anothermiracle/pseuds/anothermiracle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>You grasp at the seams of what only is your inevitable fate, your efforts futile. So you close your eyes, and succumb to the searing pain biting your skin.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn

There is pain. Unbearable, searing hot pain. The sensations you feel override what you are able to perceive - the tearing of your skin, the burning of the edges of your eyes, the shriveling up of your tongue. You suppose you’d expect a sorry ending such as this - drowning in a liquid of the same shade as that running through your veins. The irony of it all is that you are unable to welcome it, as much as you detest yourself - and the agony becomes intolerable.

But the screams that echo in your ear are not yours but the teal-blood’s. As you succumb to what only is your inevitable fate, the only thought you have is that - yes, once again, you’ve failed the one that matters to you the most. So you close your eyes, and numb your senses, and think to yourself, _I deserve this._

**OOOOOOO**

Of course, fate is unkind and you wake up with white washed eyes and enduring scars dotting your body. You’re in your old respite block and nostalgia washes over you. The chance sightings of this setting whilst on the meteor - courtesy dream bubble jumping - are no less desirable than the ending the game has conjured up for you now. But you concede that existing on this plane of pseudo-reality is much more enjoyable without the fear at the prospect of dying.

You suspect that a certain troll will be following in your wake soon and so do your best to imagine a familiar backdrop of pink leaves and cool breeze. You open your eyes and are rewarded with a plethora of colours, sights and smells. Terezi’s treehouse feels like a second home to you, despite only having visited it during the past 3 years. The warmth of the daylight - you don’t have to worry about sleeping anymore, do you - feels nice now that you’ve experienced what true incinerating of the skin feels like. Nevertheless, you retreat back into the shade and wait.

10 minutes.

Half an hour.

Four hours. Then, twenty.

 _Time is hard here,_ you think.

A day passes and you wonder why she hasn’t appeared yet. _She can’t still be fighting, can she?_ A chill shoots down your spine at the thought. You remember her broken, bones jutting out strangely and her anatomy all but destroyed from the onslaught of the crazed indigo-blood. You remember blood framing her face, trailing down in streams. Most of all, you remember the cries of mercy, Terezi begging to be put out of her misery, practically seeking relief. The very notion of her even standing up hits you with a wave of nausea. 

_She’s still fighting, isn’t she?_

You bury your face in your sleeve and smother a sad grin. You had always known she was strong, but to the tipping point of death? You can’t help but feel proud, despite the undercurrent of worry tormenting the edges of your consciousness. A few tears slip out, and you’re quick to wipe them away before realizing there’s probably no one here to see your cry anyway. 

You then play with the idea of eternity, and how much shorter it may feel with her at your side. And you wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me: another-miracle.tumblr.com


End file.
